There's something stuck in my throat.
I think it's my heart,
Trying to escape.
It cannot cope with any more pain.

It could be ***** though,
*****, or my heart?
Let's play Russian roulette.

If I cough it up
Will it be a magical cure
Or the death that I deserve?

Now I can write about you,
Now, now you are all I can think of,
All I can see.
All that I want.

Now that I have broken you
I can find words for you.

What is wrong with me?

The worst has happened,
And here comes the fallout.
It's nothing I don't deserve.
I don't deserve these tears, though
I have no right to wallow in self pity,
Having inflicted such damage
On those I should ever cherish.

I know why they call it heartbreak, now.
There is something broken, in there.
Broken, and disintegrating.
He has one to match,
But I broke them both.
Foolish, foolish girl
Did you think yourself invulnerable?
The most generous heart in the world,
And you managed to find the one betrayal
Even he could never forgive.

Oh, help me, someone please,
This hurts, this hurts,
I deserve it,
But I can't take it,
I don't know what to do.

I am pondering
The perfect shape of your mouth,
And wondering
If that symmetry
Would be spoilt,
Or enhanced
If I could make you bite your lip, in longing.

I am recalling
My favourite sound, your laugh,
And imagining
That beautiful music,
Were I to find a ticklish spot
Caress you there,
And call it forth.

I am obsessing
About your hands
Caressing
Every inch of me
Delicately.
Your mouth, your laugh, your hands,
Are keeping me company, this evening,
I've had a lovely time.

Are you there,
Wishing, hoping, wanting?

Are you eaten up alive
Consumed by me
As I am you?

Are you dreaming
With your eyes open?

Always only half present...
Always exhausted,
Unable to escape to sleep
Starting awake, at 3am
Then locked to thoughts of me
Until the alarms' call?

Are you there?
I am here,
Wishing, hoping, wanting.

Are you there?
So am I.
I am there.
I am there, too.

I need to be locked up, chained up,
STOPPED.
I'd do it to myself,
If I didn't think I'd find a devious way
to escape
Like chew off my own hand,
Or scream until someone called a locksmith.

Don't do it, for Gods' sake,
Find a way for it not to happen.
Find some ancient mouldy food in the fridge
And chow it down,
Call all your friends,
Find someone in crisis, that needs you by their side.
Turn on all the taps and flood the house,
Get blind drunk.
Feign pregnancy.
Just sit here
And read random poems
Until it's too late
Until it's too late.

She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.

Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.

That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those  ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.

She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.

Can someone who is
Selfless
Loving
Secure
Calm
Even tempered
Thoughtful
Gentle
Protective
Kind
Coherent
And in a happy place
Please, please teach me
How to be a better mother?

There is a fascinating woman in my life
She captivates me.
Flashing eyes, allure
Burnt sugar smell
And open wanton ways.

Magnetism.

I have never felt the tug so strongly
And in that place.
She moves her body
And creates a tsunami
Flames and waves of want.

I watch her from afar
And long to ask her how she feels
Even though,
I already know.

Why don't you want to read my poems?
Don't you understand
That you are disregarding
My very heart?

Why won't you let me
Show you my heart?

Do you know how it feels
To have offered you my hopeful little heart
And to meet with such indifference?
Outright rejection would have hurt a lot less.
It's as if I had called your attention to a funny skit on YouTube,
Or a bargain on HotUkDeals.

You would be more excited by either, I think.
That makes me want to curl into a ball
And cry.
It makes me want to die.

London is an onion.
Not one of those big, brown juicy globes
you can buy in packs of three, from Tesco,
No, an earthy, shrivelled relic from an old geezer's allotment,
With trailing fronds and a few infestations.
If you were to take a bite, your eyes would smart and your body rebel with a cough, a shudder and a wheeze,
But moments later, a smile would be playing round your lips,
Such a sensory adventure, though not exactly pleasant, can still be savoured,
And you'll remember the taste forever.

Londoners are weevils, hiding in the layers.
Outer, inner, some of us worm our way between them all.
Me, I tend to head for the heart of the thing,
Soho, Southwark, the inner sanctums.
I sometimes venture nearer the surface, the outer edges,
But too close to the unknown, and unfamiliar air,
And I start to pine for the centre.
You can work between the layers,
But the many skins are tougher than you'd think,
Better to burrow down, find a place to sustain
The appetite of a hungry little grub.

I might let my dreams out tonight,
And scream things I shouldn't, in my sleep.

I am tired of being half myself,
Tired of limits and shouldn't and don't.
Tonight, I will let loose my inhibitions,
They have been straining in these chains for far too long.

The colours that surround me in my sleep will spill forth,
Staining me naked, with a wanton rainbow palette.
Moon-beams will enter and dance with my dreams,
Labradorite glories, come to life.

Oh, I will be me, tonight if never else,
I will be fantastical,
Surrounded by night-bringings, fevers and longings,
What will they look like, and where will they take me?
Night psyche dreamings, I'll join you in the dance.

Let me trace an arc of longing on the softest, sweetest parts of you.
Make the sounds that I will replay
Over and over again, every time I am alone.

Build a circle of seduction
With whispered explicits, your tongue, and your arms.
Let me climb inside.

Pull me closer.
Place your hands behind my knees,
And slowly, firmly, raise them higher.
Make me tremble,
I'm on fire.

Sweep my dress from my shoulders,
Let your fingers find
Bullet-*******,
Squeeze, tease, grind.

I will get down on my knees and beg,
I always will.

I will get down on my knees
Strategically,
Knowing what you want from me.

Make me helpless
And laugh, softly, at my complete
Exposure.

Tell me what to do, everything you want,
I will comply.
Free me from myself,
Enslave me to your will,
Make me cry.

Give me what I want.
Give me what you want,
Oh, please,
Tease, tease.

Like everyone else, these September downpours have me grumbling,
but secretly, I couldn't be happier.
Rain has come for me, my saviour from the skies,
Cautioning, encouraging restraint.
Thank you rain,
For hiding everything from everyone.
For masking tears,
Blurring fears,
And keeping me away.
I am still so vulnerable,
But I want to stay strong, and am trying so hard.
This downpour, this baptism,
Washes away weakness, and temptation,
And may tip the balance the right way;
Move me further from Summers' indulgence
Into abstinence, and resolve.
I am ever grateful to the Gods of Rain,
Who saw what I needed, and supplied,
They may save me from myself.

Just thinking about seeing you, tonight,
Makes my eyes water
And my head spin
With various aspects of crazy.

I am considering (and trying to find an excuse)
To abandon a cosy dinner in a candlelit restaurant
For two hours in the rain, watching a Disney movie,
just so I can see your face.

Of course, I’m hoping there’ll be a resurrection
Of longing glances, whispered messages
And later, electronic conniving
Of the kind we have both been avoiding.

It won’t happen,
But I will derive a certain sick comfort
In seeing you there, in the rain,
Watching it trickle over your beautiful face
And wanting to kiss it away.  

I will be happier, and more comfortable
Squirming there in rain-soaked clothes
Than sipping top price Burgundy in you-know-where
With you-know-who.

But I know what I need to do,
The sensible thing, the only thing I can.
I'll leave you there, dewy and delicious
Kissed by rain, and wishing it was me.

I am a coward,
And a failure,
Disguised as a successful human being
You'd have every reason to envy.

I have it all,
Yet I have nothing.
I've followed all the rules
And life has delivered, accordingly.

If I won't renounce apathy
And find my own way out,
Then I have just what I deserve.

Let's face it,
I have wasted four decades,
Wasted.

I'll read this poem
Every day
And then, I'll either do nothing
Or allow it to enter and alter me,
Gradually.

I first tried an oyster at a seafood bar in Melbourne,
and it jarred in that far-away place.
Oysters, so intimate, were meant to find me at home,
And they did.
In the crowds of Borough Market,
A barnacled Titan plunged his pickled hand into ice-water,
And presented me with a real beauty;
Lustrous, mother of pearl shell,  
And at the centre,
A sea-fairy, glittering,
Living, existing for consumption.
A tickle of tabasco, and down he went,
An ocean in my mouth.
I could have been a mermaid
at Neptune’s banquet;
So briny and life-giving,
My mollusc revelation.

An image for you;
A man and a woman, very much in love
Feast on two dozen at an oyster and porter house,
also at the market.
Glowing in the light of a dripping white candle,
They sit at the corner of the counter,
A perfect white wine clinking in their glasses.
Two years ago, an anniversary oyster-fest,
Look how happy we are…
This is the best table in the house.
Now, if we returned,
We might complain about people pushing past,
And the arrogant city-types, drunk and dropping crab shells,
But…That night, it was just us, though busy, it might have been deserted,
Our eyes and the slide of the oysters down our eager throats
Made promises, later to be kept.

I have a decision to make.
I have already made it.
I made it in the millisecond between typing 'to' and 'make'.
So, I no longer have a decision to make,
And I no longer have a poem to write.

I shall take myself to bed.

I kissed my lover here,
Sandwiched between the smells and the sells;
Turkish delight and baklava,
Over ripening fruit,
Roast, moist meats in sourdough,
And him, heady, ready and in my spell.

So excited, we both were,
To be kissing, at last,
Surrounded by delicious.
All these succulent wonders,
But I wanted to eat him,
Eat him, with my eyes, my mouth,
Savour every moment
Every morsel, while I could.

Lost to me now, my Prince of Feasts,
Do you ever wander, among the fruits and flowers,
Hoping for a glimpse of me?
Do the scents and sounds evoke
The ghosts of us, kissing?
They do, for me, every time.
I close my eyes, and salivate,
Longing to devour you again.

Why does my back hurt so badly
Every morning?
Is it because all night,
Through my dreams
I am carrying you home?

Or is it because
On waking,
I break a little more each morning,
Crushed by your absence,
Snapping under the weight of guilt?

Soon I will be spineless...like you.

I have been in an almost sleep all day,
Perpetual semi-twilight.
Each time I surfaced
I popped another pill (on an empty, aching stomach)
And returned to not quite dreams
It was almost fun.

The moment when the little pill kicks in
Is all the relief you've ever felt.
Pain, the master of your world
Recedes
And febrile fantasies erupt
Spilling from your head, to your bed.

I don't think I want to get well.
I thought the most fantastic poem,
But I couldn't break the surface
For long enough to capture it.
It eludes me now, while lucid,
But the pain is creeping back...
So, time for a little white saviour,
Perhaps I will rediscover
My lost masterpiece.,
Buried in the desert of disease.

Finally
My body and my psyche are in sync.
Sick
In pain and wasting away.

It's only a stomach upset
But it feels right,
Somehow.
Feeling 'well' felt incongruous,
Now, I feel as I should -
Sick, everywhere.

I wonder if recovery
Will stretch to a lifting of the spirit, too?
As I nurture my body with soup, sleep and rest,
Will the rest of me find sustenance, and come back
To wellness,
Can I drag my heartsick mind back to robust health?
Or is my body
Stronger than my soul?

Your birth was a storm of pain.
Red clouds
Roiling above a viscous sea.
Each surge
A bargain made with nature
For redemption, for release.

But I was never afraid.
I listened to you, your quiet calm,
Connecting, even then.
I breathed, perspired and rode
the rapids of my body,
Followed the pulse and rhythm of something unrestrained,
Released from deep within,
Urging me on.

There's a moment, when birthing
Like finding yourself alone, in a hot air balloon,
Rising higher and higher
Without the hope of return to solid ground.
You feel your insides gather, prepare for something new,
And it is new,
Indescribable, other, you feel like a creature from another world
And that's what you looked like too.
Little alien, yet so familiar
Eyes on each other
Daughter and mother.

I think it may be time to visit my dark place,
The demons there have missed me.
They have been calling incessantly,
Now, more insistently,
Sending me pictures
And planting what ifs.

Last time I visited
I barely made it back,
So if anyone has a better idea,
A destination to recommend,
I'd love to hear.
This compulsion to return
Is simply better the devil you know
But I'd rather not know this Devil, anymore
And I've had enough of heat.

You are always inside me.

We are never

Together.

I am ever beside myself.

My sadness
Is a late summer storm.

A few days of sun,
But I knew it was brewing.
Anticipation, trepidation,
Gathering resolve.

It thunders over me
When I least expect it.
There's a sudden build up
Then release.

Afterwards
I feel renewed
for a while.

Only for a while.

I can still hear the thunder, in the distance
And I know it will return,
Heavier, and darker than before.

Sometimes you read something so good
That your heart stops beating
Or starts skipping in your chest.
Something so real, so right
That you break out in a sweat,
Glaze over for a second
And come to, drowning, re-reading,
The entire world receding.
You know, you know
You will never write like that,
But you feel you could be slightly better
Just for having read it.

Listen.
Somebody is whispering a secret
She needs us all to hear.

Look.
She has carefully removed her heart, from her chest
with a sharp edged scalpel
And placed it on a plate
Beating feebly, drained of blood.
She anxiously awaits
Our inspection and response.

With each reaction
It beats with a little more conviction.
Just a few more
And she'll be ready to return it to its place.

Tomorrow
She'll remove her heart again
And hide it somewhere close
She has to make it harder
But she'll whisper where it is.
Will you listen?
Will you search?

I am strangely not me
Over there.

I post and delete
I post and delete
The things that make me me.

I think I might have to
Delete that me
That isn't me
And reintroduce myself to the (real) world.

But I don't know if anyone is there, anymore.
I think they're all
Unmaking themselves
Over there.
I don't think they would recognise
Me.

I don't know if I recognise myself.

Give me a word
And I will find a way to make it mean you.
You are so present, in everything,
That the word ‘reminder’ is redundant.

Other words that no longer make any sense;
Perspective
Laughter
Happiness
and trust.

I have no use for ‘music’ now
I think I understand the concept, but
it’s alien, and makes me shudder.
Why would I allow it to enter my ears
And encourage tears?

Kiss.
That’s another one to re-examine.
I can’t recall your kiss,
I try, and my mouth quivers, and implodes
My insides twist
And I’m engulfed in misery.

There are some words I can’t deny, though
I can’t bear to list them here.

I am a little bit
Scared
I am perhaps
Scarred.

I think you might have
damaged me.

My heart has
shrunk

My head pulsates with
Pain.

You've planted
something
poisonous

And future carnage
lurks within.

Tell me how to quit the rat race
Show me how to find a way
Teach me how to break these patterns
Find a way from work, to play.

I have had enough of lying,
Mediocre isn't me
I am slowly, slowly dying
I am longing to be free.

How'd I get here? Why'd I stay here?
I gave up, and now I'm old,
Help me not make poor decisions,
Help me to be brave, and bold.

Find me, find me,
Guide me, mind me,
Stay and love me
Stand behind me.

Why are some years
So world-shaking?
Is there something in that star sign business, after all?

Leo,
You will have an encounter that will recode your existence.
You will spend months
Writhing and tortured with desire.
Your comfortable career will free fall
You'll have the option to return
To where it all began
But might not take it...?
You will kiss your best friend
And feel nothing
You will kiss his best friend
And feel everything.

You will find yourself, in chaos,
You will start to write again.

I am enjoying
This knot in my stomach
It's an improvement on the nausea.

My hands are shaking
And my voice is tremulous
For all the right reasons.

When I walk into that room
They won't see a broken, soul-sick shell,
But a warrior woman,
Everything they're looking for,
It can't go wrong.

I am an accomplished actress.
I will woo.
They will fall in love with a creation of my making,
And if I will her into existence,
Believe in her,
Maybe she'll accompany me home
And I can keep her for a little longer
To help me woo the world?

The flare of pain at the base of my spine
distracts me from the sharper pain
Of losing you.

Each evening I numb myself with wine,
It slops into the glass
And makes me think of angry tears.

Social butterfly, I whirl into the city
Wearing my fake face,
And ready for excess.

I need to be gentled
Away from these destructive interventions,
Does someone have a cure for the cure?

Today,
A little happy peeked around the corner
And waved.
He was shaped like a question mark,
And kept changing colour
For he couldn't quite decide
If blue was appropriately ironic.

I haven't seen a happy for a while,
So I waved back,
And he turned red.
Either blushing, or angry,
A reluctant happy.
Nevertheless,
He made me smile.

This is a sad month.
The chance of another perfect Summers day
Falls away.

September channels melancholy.
Summer crazy turns to calm.
Excitement dies,
We start to pack away the years' memories,
Growth slows,
We ponder.

I have learned nothing.
Autumn's inevitability
Echoes my own, unchanging nature.

Perhaps I can learn from the season's changes,
There are things that I, too, should try to put to bed.
I will try to say goodbye
Not just to sun, and warmth,
But to my mistakes.

It's not a time for sadness
But for welcoming the chance to start again.

It doesn't matter if it's wrong,
It won't make a blind bit of difference
philosophising, moralising, judging, denying,
It won't change the simple fact that
We love.

You, who have never been mine
And never will be.
I, who dream of you
At every turn
And can never arrive in your arms.

None of it matters,
If we act, if we don't.
Simple fact
Unchanged by perspective, or debate.
Love, love,
It's there
unbearable, undeniable,
So simple, so immense.

I dream of ******* you
Shaking with terror and lust.
When I wake, my cheeks are wet
And the sheets are soaked with sweat.
For the rest of the day
I choke back tears
And count the minutes until
the deadening;
A glass of something that will burn to ashes
The remnants of my dream.

People are hurting themselves.
Again and again
I read of blades, and blood, and pain.
How very many of us starve, and purge, and try in vain
To find release
To find some peace.

Pain is seductive.
Enticing, romantic,
He can hold you like no other,
He's a charismatic lover,
And, in thrall to his call and easily persuaded,
You are urged on to ever more sordid acts.
But in the end, it still just hurts.
He'll leave you, like the rest, wanting more
And feeling like a *****.

There you are, snapping me open,
I'm broken again.

Scatter me in pieces.

I hope that as I lie there, shattered
Something will seep or weep from each.

Now, reassemble.

Recreate a whole me
From these fragmented parts.

I will walk away, purged.
I'll leave you with those wretched remnants

Leave you with my hearts' garbage,
Clean it up, finish the task.

You breathe very heavily
And you're short
And bald.
You tell obscure jokes that no-one laughs at.
You get really, really drunk
And shout along to songs - all the wrong words
deliberately.
You're very annoying.
Right wing
A wind-up merchant
You watch nothing but the news, Top Gear, and old re-runs of Poirot.

It's no good.
I love to listen to you breathe, and sigh
You're just the right height for kissing
And your baldness suits you, suits your perfect smile
I laugh inside, if no-one else does
And am usually drunker, and louder, and urging you to dance.
I love your teasing
And the TV doesn't matter
Because we only have eyes for each other
when together
It's no good.

In the heart of the night
I told her,
Your favourite toy will come alive
And creep around your room
On her tiny, twinkling feet
But only if you are asleep.
How sweet, to spark her dreams
But
It occurs to me
That this is terrifying for her
How can I take it back
And quash her fears
Without breaking her heart?

The night smells of popcorn, spilled wine and beach *****
Plastic sugar sweet.
As Baby and Johnny start to dance,
So do a few thousand beauties
In cut off shorts, white pumps and ******* tops
Or flouncy dresses, and seamed stockings
Dancing, dancing, with abandon and wistful delight,
Remembering the first time they ever saw this film
And had their hearts broken by the now dead actor
And his shy (but sassy) girl.
As the credits roll ***** bounce across the fields
And we all keep dancing
Desperate to remain
In the moment
Dreaming 'til dawn.